Warrior
by Tika Cichowski
Summary: What happens when Dean's kidnapped and sold to become a warrior for a Middle Eastern King? He finds himself in the fiercest battle of his life to just simply survive. With the help of another kidnappee he just might make it. Lots of Dean suffering.
1. Chapter 1

_The arm wrapped around his throat and pulled him tight against the chest behind him, "If you are smart you'll shut up and go quietly. There is a gun trained on your brother's head and if given the signal he's a goner." _

_He swallowed hard before throwing his elbow into the stomach of the other man. The kidnapper's stumbling back caused his friend to look over at him and the gun wavered. _

"_Sam, run!" He screamed and started racing forward only to be pulled down by his ankle. His last vision was of his younger brother darting off into the woods and then darkness claimed him._

Dean Winchester woke from the drug induced sleep and looked around the cell. It was dark and damp, and lonely. In the past two years he had gotten used to having his brother's company again and in a mere fifteen minutes they were separated; for this time the period was indefinite.

He pulled himself upright only to find himself chained to the floor. What the hell was going on? Then he heard it the sound of his stomach growling. How long had he been out? The thought that maybe Sam had been caught crept into his mind and sent his heart racing. Shaking his head he told himself to forget it, there was no way in hell Sam would have been caught.

"Good you're awake. I hope you find your accommodations to your liking but if you don't oh well." A heavily accented voice said from the door of the cell.

"What the hell happened?" he asked simply looking the man in the eyes.

"You are on the market now Mr. Winchester. Don't worry that shan't be your name for long however." The voice threw a tray down two feet in front of him. "If you feel the need to eat have fun trying to get to it, if you don't need to eat let me know and I can take you to see a potential buyer."

The smell of a hamburger and French fries tickled his nose. It smelled good and he wasn't even sure how long he had been without food. "How long have I been out?"

"Three and a half days. Come on big-shot American come get the food. Doesn't it smell nice? If you put on a good show I might add a piece of cheese." The voice laughed.

"What are you talking about? There's no way in hell I'm struggling for that, a steak, potato and beer maybe."

He found himself thrown up against the wall so hard that he winced at the shackles cutting into his wrists. The man before him was almost double his weight and had greasy black hair and black eyes. "You don't get it do you Mr. Winchester? You aren't a guest but soon to be a slave. One that will be whipped and whipped and so much other pain inflicted you'll be screaming when you see a guard. Now I said crawl for it."

Dean's head bounced off the wall once and it resounded in the cell. He glared up at the man and stubbornly sat there. What he didn't expect was the fist that made his head snap to the right. He tasted the coppery liquid of wet blood on the corner of his mouth. "I won't tell you again."

He smiled as Dean started crawling forward, the shackles biting deeper into his wrists. This was all too amusing watching a high and mighty American crawl and whimper for his supper whether he knew it or not.

Dean stretched and tried to get the food for fifteen minutes before finally succeeding only to find that he had to eat like an animal as his arms could stretch no further. So with every painstaking bite and nerve grating laugh he was more determined to get the hell out of there.

Suddenly the food was yanked away and his arms forced behind him. He heard handcuffs snap into place and he was jerked to his feet. "Ready to meet your potential master?"

"Not particularly but something tells me I don't have a choice." Dean replied sullenly.

The slap came again and it stung. "Don't hurt his pretty face too much. The king won't appreciate it."

Dean was drug along a dark corridor for what seemed forever. As soon as they entered a lighted room he was thrown to his knees.

"Your majesty," his captor said with a bow, "your newest warrior."

A dark shadow fell across Dean's face and it made him look up. He looked deep into another set of black eyes, and then it traveled to the woman beside him. She had kind eyes that were a charcoal gray, and beside her was a younger woman whose chocolate colored eyes looked a tad shrewd but also showed empathy for what he was going through.

"I want to see his teeth." His majesty said.

With a none too gentle jerk of his hair they pulled his head back and forced his mouth open. Suddenly a finger was feeling around in it. He felt awful, his head pounded and he wanted to sleep again. The travel down the hallway had exhausted him.

"Sir," the younger woman said stepping forward. "May I remind you he is not a horse? Not to mention it looks like they've been abusing him."

"You will keep you opinions to yourself. I will not remind you again." His majesty replied shooting her a glare. "What do you think my queen?"

"He looks strong enough although I agree with her. He'll need some tending to before traveling though; I believe she'll do a thorough enough job. It's up to you however, after all he'll be your warrior."

His majesty nodded, "We'll take him." He turned to the younger woman. "Go with him and tend to him, be no more that twenty minutes and be prepared to travel. We leave in an hour."

She curtsied quickly, "Yes sir. I'm going to need warm water, washcloth, ice pack and some antibiotic cream, Neosporin or something to that effect."

"Follow us ma'am." Dean's captor said, pulling Dean to his feet.

She smiled at her majesties and followed them down the darkened hallway. She shivered in the darkness and could only imagine how many warriors had been dragged down the hall. She herself had been dragged down it nearly ten years before.

She waited patiently while they shackled him again. While she waited the supplies she had requested arrived and finally when she was left alone in the cell she knelt. She handed him the ice pack and waited while he had put it against his cheek. Pressing the warm washcloth against his split lip she said with a chuckle, "Welcome to hell."


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome to hell, those words rang through Dean's head as he sat, his back pressed tight against the ship's wall. He could believe it, before even leaving port he had tried fighting only to be overpowered and whipped. He could still feel blood soak through his shirt every now and then when a slash reopened. Now the only thing he wished for was for the shrewd-eyed woman to come back, while she'd been cynical she'd also been nice and soothing when she cleaned the back of his head with peroxide. She'd refused to tell him her name and had talked only of what was going to be expected of him once they reached Nalio, a small country in the Middle East. The prospect of it wasn't pretty.

Even in the cool storage area of the ship he felt warm. He knew the signs of infection and also knew the chance was high as his captors didn't even care about his wounds as the chained him in possibly the filthiest place on the ship. It was close to the garage dump and every now and then something would slip through the cracks.

He had no clue if it was day or night as he had no window. They brought him nothing but a small bowl of soup for any meal with a tiny chunk of bread as if that were enough to keep his strength. And that was completely the point.

He tried rearranging his body to be more comfortable but his shackles would only allow so much movement. As pain shot up his spine, he suddenly wished for the woman to be back to comfort him. He felt his head droop and darkness wanting to claim him.

The door to his cell opened and light pierced his eyes. A shadow filled the doorway and stalked toward him, his voice was hard. "Congratulations on surviving the trip. You look a bit peaked."

"Gee couldn't be able to tell you why. Where are we?" Dean asked struggling to keep his eyes on the shadow.

The shadow turned and spoke in rapid Arabic to someone. When he faced Dean again his eyes were sickening and his smile wide and creepy. "You have too many clothes on. My men will remove them and then you will be initiated. Don't be thinking too hard it'll only make your head hurt more."

Dean forced his head up and willed his eyes to stay open as the men came in to unshackle him. His focus wavered in and out, making him only able to catch glimpses of the men that were advancing, something silver flashing in their hands.

"This is going to be way too much fun."

Piece by piece he felt his clothing fall away until he sat in nothing much his underwear. He heard the sick chuckle and then felt cold, damp fingers at the waist of his underwear. His brain didn't register what was about to happen and it wanted to just focus on keeping his eyes open. He heard the shackles being lifted and unhooked, his arms suddenly felt extremely light.

His body seemed to be floating the next minute when the men slipped their hands under his armpits and lifted him to his feet. Heat came from the door and suddenly he was thrust into it.

"Behold!" the shadow said, as Dean was thrown to the dusty ground.

"Taqif," a voice said, "This American has fought all the way, and perhaps it would be better if we were to show the others what we think of disobedience?"

The smile was slow and disheartening. "Very good, very good idea warrior. Begin."

The air in Dean's chest whooshed out as the foot connected with his stomach. He tried pulling himself to his feet only to be knocked back down by the back of his attacker's hand. With a bit of effort he reached forward, gripped his attacker's ankle and pulled.

"Hold his hands down." Taqif ordered. "We'll show him what happens when slaves fight back outside of the ring."

Dean could feel his strength waning by still struggled when they reached forward and grabbed his hands. With little effort his attackers held his hands out and Taqif posed his foot over it.

With no thought he brought his boot down, hard, on Dean's hand. Dean bit his lip to keep from crying out as he heard bones snap.

Pain radiated up his arm and suddenly he felt a small compact body throw itself on top of him, a delicate hand covering his large one and it say, "Stop it! Leave him alone Taqif."

Taqif held up his hand, "You dare to protest me filth? Maybe you'd like to be a part of the fight."

The body stood, "I am the queen's assistant. You touch me you risk having your hand cut off and being sent to the stockades. Take him to my room. I'll tend to him, and see if the queen is available. She'll want to hear about this."

Once again Dean felt himself being lifted and the delicate hand pressed against his forehead. The touch was familiar and the voice comforting, so he let go and drifted into a dark abyss of nothingness.

* * *

He shuddered against the cold and fought off the dark he found himself in. He could hear soft murmuring and could smell mangos. Something soothing was pressed against his back and it was a relief.

"You're awake, that's good. Let me just put this next piece of cloth on and wrap it, then you get to eat." A soft voice with a lilt said and placed the last piece of cloth on the last infected slash.

"Who are you? How long have I been out?" He asked and felt small competent hands pass under his stomach and a soft cloth stretch across it.

"My name is MacKenna Sullivan and you have been sleeping for two and a half days." She wouldn't add how hard it was to share her bed, "Can you turn over and I'll help you sit up."

He listened and pain flashed through his body. Slowly with her hands guiding him he sat his back propped up against red fluffy pillows. He considered her as she walked to a nearby stand, she was pretty enough and young, almost the kind of girl that he'd go for in a bar except that she had dark chestnut hair that flowed to her waist.

MacKenna walked back to her patient, tray of soup in hand. She settled down, placed the soup between them and then put her hand on his forehead, "Fever's going down. How 'bout some soup?"

"Sounds good," He replied and reached to take the spoon only to find his right hand in a cast.

"Sorry, you um got your hand broke. Want to try with the other one?"

Clumsily he picked up the spoon with his left hand and brought some soup to his lips. Sipping carefully studied her. She had freckles across her nose and cheeks, her skin pale gold, her mouth was full, rosebud and unpainted, her eyes almond-shape, dark brown and shrewd with amazingly long lashes. And he finally figured out where he recognized her. "You were there when the king saw me."

"Yeah. I checked the bump on your head and it's healing. So where are you from?"

"Here there and everywhere." Soup fell off the spoon. "I'm really getting sick of this stuff. Where you from?"

"Dublin, Ireland. My family's lived there nearly sixty years. So any family?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"So do you. Let me guess, you have a younger brother named Sam and you hunt for a living." She took the spoon from him when more soup spilled on the sheet. "And your father recently died."

He looked at her amazed. "How'd you know all of that?"

She fed him some soup and replied, "A friend of mine was able to procure some of your belongings from the people that took you."

"Okay. So how long have you been here?"

"Almost ten years. What do you hunt Dean?"

"This and that."

"Oh please. I'm not stupid, what's your favorite thing to hunt?"

"Geese."

She rolled here eyes. "Sorry but you don't hunt geese with rock salt or silver bullets."

"You went through my stuff. Terrific." He mumbled only to have more soup spooned into his mouth.

"My favorite things to hunt are banshees," She laughed with her tongue in cheek.

His hazel eyes met hers, "You hunt? How old are you?"

"Twenty-two. My great-grandmother was Ukrainian and a hunter, she married a Polish man and my grandmother was a hunter, she married a Scottish man and my mother was supposed to be a hunter but she didn't want that. She married an Irish man and I became a hunter, I'm the youngest of six kids."

Dean could only stare as soup dribbled down his chin. Absently he reached with his good hand and wiped it. "That's quite a story."

MacKenna nodded. "Oh yeah. Are you finished?"

"Yeah. Listen I have to go to the bathroom, could you maybe?"

She laughed heartily, "Yes. The bathroom is through that door right there." She pointed and then continued, "I'll take this down to the kitchen. If you need to shower there's one in there and a pair of sweats in the top drawer. You're best bet though would be to just wash up and not get your wrap wet."

He smiled at her. "Thanks."

"No problem." She replied and he watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked out of the room.

When she disappeared he turned and limped into the bathroom.

Until he healed, she thought as she walked down the hallway, it was going to be very interesting.


End file.
